Naiveté
by girlgetsVENGEANCE
Summary: He was all she knew. But not all she remembered. WeskerSherry. Rated for vulgarity, sexual content and drugalcohol usage.
1. Prologue

Author's Note/ Disclaimer: This is the first story I am officially posting as my first serious attempt. It is rated M for vulgarity, sexual content, drug/alcohol usage, etc/. I've had a love and passion for Resident Evil since I was like 6 so after RE4 I supposed this was appropriate.

I do not own Resident Evil, Capcom, or the owners thereof. Kthnks 3.

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**_…'_**nous vivons tous pour chercher une destiné si belle qu'elle perce nos rêves...**_'_**

…we all live to seek a fate so beautiful it pierces our dreams...

Tonight was supposed to be the most humid night of the week. Supposed to be.

A twilight heat wave to die for. But there was a obscene cold stillness to the air in the town, and it was just one of those things that no one wanted to acknowledge no matter how apparent it seemed. And it got worst. In a secluded bar along the deserted strip of the thruway, more than 85 miles from civilization. There were three occupants in the muggy and still room: The overweight, depressed looking bartender that looked everywhere but up as she polished stain filled shot glasses, a little girl who resembled the woman sitting boredly at a vacant table…and a unconnected looking woman.

A lady in red.

One could tell she wasn't from around there. The view of the way she cradled her chin in her small but guilty hands was enough to attest to it. Her red camisole top and matching capris was enough to bet millions.

She hadn't been waiting for too long, or so she was making herself to believe, when the door opened to reveal a tall man of heavy stature and an expensive looking black suit.

The woman had been nursing a horrible glass of vodka.

The bartender immediately grasped her glass tight but didn't glance at the little girl. Now she knew something was going on. Nobody liked foreigners and trouble in their territory.

_Especially if they weren't 'equipped' enough to handle it._

The man went over to a table by the window, closest to the back and implied her to join him. She did. Nothing ever changed.

"Seems like you've had a change in fashion sense."

She rolled her eyes in the direction of the obese bartender who irritably looked away. A brilliant façade she perfected among the years of her career. Although sometimes she felt he saw through her, she would just make her self believe something otherwise, better. Again.

Her drink had remained where she left it on the bar and she knew it was itching to be collected and washed to it's original state. The taste of it's ardor resonated in her throat, she could still feel the sting of it, and it helped her handle her company better. For whatever may transpire further on that night. She was always ready.

For times, engagements like these, if nothing else in her life.

"Seems like your still the same, that's nice."

He didn't smile " I don't intend to be here for long. I'm just preferred to drop off the information in person."

"Aww…don't you want to have a few drinks," she pouted " Though you can't taste it, I'm predicting you'd at least be graced with a little sensation."

The best and tiniest smirk that should could summon was pulled upon her small lips. At times like there, it used to mean an invitation.

Used to mean….

But the man didn't once at lease trigger a flinch in his handsome, perpetually youthful face features that he was listening to her. Much less caring. Instead he pulled an envelope out of the inside pocket and slid it to her.

"All I need from you is information…"

Was that it? Was that all…? She expected more. She needed more. Oh, how she trained herself, programmed herself to know what he wanted…how he wanted

it…where…when…how…She prepared herself in her best state and look. Almost like a occasional present that he'd unwrap and use every time they met.

Surely things weren't changing.

"… Everything you'll need is in that envelope."

Despite her inner most disappointment, she smirked and looked out the dirty glass window. For some reason she was surprised it was turning out the way it was.

She would die trying. He knew her "Well I know you like it rough…but don't you think you should appreciate me a bit more..?"

_…No._

He looked at his watch.

"I want no tracks. No hints. Watch yourself as you were watching you own life."

"Trying to get your boy back, huh?," she pushed, wanting to hurt him as much as he hurt her " I heard it was that little notorious bitch that fucked you over and caused a riot to the whole place."

She watched his lip twitch slightly and felt an ounce of satisfaction.

Desperately she wished she could look into his eyes. Just once. But she knew no one got the privilege. And no matter what she did for him, it seemed she'd never see behind black.

It killed.

He stood up then, pushed his chair in and didn't look around. At the tightening of his jaw the little girl crawled away in fear. When he didn't loosen it, she whimpered. The curls of her dry auburn hair sheltered her frightened brown eyes modestly.

"Just do your job."

"and suppose I don't…" she teased as a final innuendo with every last bit of esteem she held in the deepest of her soul. She never did fail at doing anything for him.

"I'll kill you."

Usually she was flawless in holding a fair expression but he had broke through her wall effortlessly. His back was turned to her, however, and he didn't see the solid tear that strolled down the woman's face.

He smelled it. The salt in it. The weakness.

" No evidence. You slip, it's over. Do you understand me?"

"..do I ever.."

"Good. And please," he stated " Watch your mouth around the children."

It was then she couldn't stop the rush of her words, the rush of her demon that made her vomit the question she had been dying to ask for years.

"Aren't you sick of playing this game…?"

"You know what I am. I don't get tired." he answered as if it she was the most idiotic animal on the earth's surface.

And the sound of his voice made her feel that way. She always wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

He left then. She couldn't even hear the sound of his ignition beyond the wave of her thoughts. She ignored the stare from the bartender although she was dying to ask her why…

_…Why does it hurt so much…?_

She wanted to ask why he didn't set up to meet her in a better place than a shit hole like the one she sat in. Why he didn't take her to a high class hotel or the back of his limo and fuck her brains out. Why he never said thank you.

She slipped a five on the table's surface and politely stormed out to her black explorer. Her cell phone was thrown to the empty passenger seat and she felt so lazy she felt reluctant to switch on her lights.

All she could think of was his last words.

At least, however, from where she looked at it, it meant…promised she'd see him again.

And like a drug. Like a sedation. It was what she lived for.


	2. Special Day

'_Shit can happen at any time.. Your or my life isn't promised… especially with all that's going on… the life we live.--" _

"_What are you saying..?"_

"_If anything should happen…I can't leave my wife and daughter alone…" _

"_Protect her. No matter what for me?"_

"_You have my word. "_

"_Please.."_

"_My word…"  
_

It was night when she entered her spacious Victorian bedroom. The floor to ceiling windows allowed moonlight into the confines of her room, dancing gently as the trees swayed. She sighed and looked over her room while taking off her long tweed coat and her suede boots. Her queen sized bed was still the same as was her vanity, pictures of scenery plastered to the mirrors. Picture of vibrant lilies, an empty park bench, a blinding sunset. She took them herself, it was rare to see such a site in her life, and her dream was to be a photographer.

Even though she didn't have much life to capture, she treasured what stillness her dull and old surroundings possessed.

She settled for her usual music, on her surround sound system. Piano instrumentals. Sometimes soft and tragic, sometimes angry and passionate. To her, it told stories, of situations she had never been In before. Sitting at her dresser she brushed her long and curly blond hair gently, following the spirals of it admirably. Through being alone she learned to admire herself. It wasn't that hard. And it took away some emptiness.

She came to realize that.

Her day was good. She took her morning classes and then was served a big dinner and cake which she lit the candle of, and blew out herself.

And then returned to her room. Somehow the day went strangely quick.

At the knock at the door, she jumped and regained herself, biting her lip.

"Yes?"

"It's me." her eyes widened at the sound of the deep voice she knew so well.

"C-come in." Suddenly her stomach dropped, and her hands felt clammy, her grip on her brush slippery. He entered and stared at her through her mirror. His lips were straight. He wore all black as usual: a turtleneck and slacks. He had a medium sized box in his hand and her face brightened. She gave a gentle smile and nod acknowledging him.

He had come home for her special day.

"Your home."

"Yes."

"You weren't supposed to be home until tomorrow."

"I couldn't miss this day. It's special to you." he replied evenly, advancing towards her as she put the brush down and stood.

Her eyes narrowed. It was slightly unbelievable that he said those words. There was a certain comfort in his words, besides the fact that they were the warmest she had heard all day. There was a certain sadness. Like he was making up for what was lost. What couldn't be said.

He gazed at her, a gaze she couldn't see as his eyes were hidden by black…as usual. She tilted her head to the side slightly in appreciation and her smile cracked wider. Her radiance glowed through her blue eyes and blonde hair.

Just like her mother.

"It's special to me…" she echoed.

He nodded "Did your day go well?"

"Yes. Thank you."

He nodded again and silence fell. But it was a silence they both were used to. It meant more normality than anything. The sounds of whatever she played in the background would soothe the both of them. They would never admit it, but it was true.

She sighed gently and he watched her beautiful and modest chest rise and fall.

"Are you tired?"

"A bit." She replied and moved to sit on her bed, sinking into the rich mattress, relieved.

The man before her nodded and walked over to hand her the box he held all the while. He knew she was holding her breath. And her cheeks flushed.

"For me?"

"For you. Open it." he said casually, watching her unwravel the bow and slide off the cover. Of course her words were caught in the depths of her stomach, of course she had no idea what to say. He himself, had to prepare for this. It wasn't exactly in his character .

A gasp escaped her, picking up a gold charm bracelet. She immediately looked up at him and brought the present to her chest. The biggest part of her wanted to throw her arms around him but she was terrified of what that might've consented to. So she clutched her thighs tightly together and inhaled her excitement.

"Thank you. " she whispered as he was already halfway out the door. He froze and turned back.

"Get some rest, you must be tired. I will see you tomorrow," he stated with a hint of concern "Okay?"

"Okay. Thank you," She said hurriedly "I appreciate it."

"…Happy birthday, Sherry."

She smiled. But was too afraid to say 'thank you' again. She knew his ways and didn't want to anger him.

So she settled for something safe.

"Good night."

He nodded and gave her a moment before exiting and shutting the door behind him.

Gratefully, she laid back and played with locks of her tresses, trying to ease the nervous knots within her stomach.

'


	3. Good Girl

_"Oh..please.."_

_"That's right…Ever been fucked like this..?"_

_"No.."_

_"Of course not.."_

Claire Redfield was a good girl. She was always a good girl And even though she was presently drunk in some hotel down the strip, naked, and being pounded mercilessly, she was still a good girl.

It started after dinner. She used the excuse of having homework for class tomorrow as a way to get away from Chris and Jill. It was times like them being collectively in one place that make her sick to her stomach.

She didn't know how but she ended up taking her bike down towards city lights and stumbled into a bar. She ordered just one shot that turned into the death of her and she grabbed the attention of a cute bystander whom looked everything but harmful.

His voice was like a gentle melody and his body was like stone. A two hour conversation led to exiting the bar, and walking to the nearby, convenient hotel.

_"Fu…ck me…Harder…"_

And therefore ending up here.

Claire Redfield isn't easy. But she knew that tonight of all nights she needed it. And her directions she's giving out are as demands. This sort of thing occurred every once and a while. And if it wasn't sex with a fuck buddy or complete stranger, it was a vibrant party, drinking herself to sleep, or…at one time: drugs.

It was disappointing the people she met at such a prestigious school as the one she attended.

The young man, bare backed, quickly drove into her, hissing. She knows he's coming. He's pulsing, he's hot. The crevices of his chest wasn't touching her standards but through the dimness that doesn't matter. Legs are placed over his shoulders for a new view. She wonders if he's some kinda model or something.

His size wasn't impressive but average. His rhythm was a bit off but she closed her eyes, arched her back to help and focused more on her spinning head. Never had he removed her bra to expose her breasts, never had he kissed them, or any part of her body.

It's over all too quickly.

While the young man who claimed he was from Florida slept soundly, she threw on her clothes and left. Without a note.

Her release was filling, of course, but it wasn't enough satisfaction to put her to sleep.

Once she returned home, or the old house that she and her brother occupied for about a year since they returned to the U.S., she retreated to her room and took a shower.

She didn't sneak, but she slinked around like a lazy cat.

Claire gets ready for bed, not worn out enough but then looks at her desk where her assignments are neatly stacked. Undone and calling out to her. She has class at 9:30 in the morning and it being 3 am she didn't know how it's going to get done.

"Claire…" called a voice from her locked door, accompanied by a gentle knock.

"Yes..?"

"May I come in?"

She gets up and swung open the door to face the young woman before her, with the most polite smile she could muster up.

"Hi, Jill. " she greeted tiredly.

"Hi."

The woman across from Claire glowed effortlessly. Her short chestnut hair was tousled , her pretty lips full and her body was adorned in Chris' old football tee. She was beautiful, and comfortable in her own skin. She doesn't have to try, Claire's never seen that side of her.

Secretly she wished she was her. Happy, free and independent. If only for a second.

Claire took her seat as Jill closed the door. "Your brother was worried about you."

"Why?" It was redundant, useless to ask. But it was nothing but instinct whenever a statement like this fell from the lips of emissaries.

Jill Valentine had only arrived four months ago to move in with the siblings. She and Chris has mutually always decided to carry on a long distance relationship for the sake of staying out of sight but the brilliant operation he had decided to aim for had turned her on so much she was on the next plane out.

He told her he was doing it for their futures. For everyone's future.

She had always been loyal to him, and this was to be no exception. He was happier now that they were closer together and even Claire had to admit it was nice having someone other than her brother around sometimes.

She served as the peacemaker now. She mended the burnt bridge of their communication factor.

" He said you were acting weird during dinner."

Claire gave a laugh " Don't I always? "

"…Is everything alright, Claire?" she asked worriedly, sitting on the queen sized bed in the corner.

"It's fine."

"He thinks it's about the operation. What he's planning to do. He thinks he's overstepping your plans or doing what you detest."

Claire rolled her eyes and stubbed her pencil deeper into her graph paper, watching the lead grind into dust "That's foolish. I'm behind my brother in whatever he does. I have no plans. And I don't hate the plan, I signed up for it, didn't I?"

"Right," Jill sighed, nodding in encouragement "…He thinks you hate him because when we start the mission, we may roll on memories of him and --"

"Don't." Claire choked, thankful her back was to Jill. She cut her off. There was no way they were bringing that up.

"I'm sorry." Jill apologized, standing up. She suddenly felt so bad . She watched Claire's back, and stepped forward to put a hand on her shoulder.

"You don't know how I feel."

She retracted her limb and stepped back "….Your right."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

Claire nodded and leaned forward "It's nothing." Lies.

Jill sauntered to the door and opened it, whispered a 'good night' before shutting the door behind her.

She left Claire to her tears and Piercing heart. The droplets stained her study guides and textbook pages but she didn't care. She fell into bed and cried herself to sleep.

With her head muffled into a pillow, she recited those memories. Crying, laughing, cursing, forgiving, sighing, choking.

It happened every night.


End file.
